Dueling Saints

Today is the Feast of St. Joseph so my husband Joe  is celebrating his feast day. Since he had Sicilian parents and their heritage included a tremendous devotion to St. Joseph,  the observance involved emptying the furniture out of a main room,  constructing a huge altar with 3 tiers, draping it with the colors for that year (kind of like a prom theme) and then loading it up with all kinds of lamps, candles, flowers, statuary, etc. Once the novena began the house would fill up nightly with Italian ladies who would sit in the rented folding chairs before the altar, pray the rosary and singing feast day songs at the top of their lungs, all in a  pre-WWII Sicilian dialect. At the end of the hour they moved to the kitchen and had coffee and pastries and chatted. It was a thing of beauty.

[caption id="attachment_2908" align="alignleft" width="225"] Small but Sincere![/caption]

The feast itself was a consummate tribute to Sicilian culture and cuisine.  Maria's version of Pasta di San Giuseppe was a marvel of cauliflower, fava  beans, chick peas, and other ingredients that made a chunky, creamy white sauce served over  homemade pasta.  It was not for the faint of heart - you either loved it or hated it. (I loved it.) The rest of the dishes were largely seafood based (it being Lent and living in a fishing community) and side dishes included battered artichoke hearts and stuffed, sun-dried tomatoes - long before those became "popular" here in the U.S.  It was no wonder my Irish heritage was largely ignored as St. Patrick's Day got lost in the shuffle.  As the years passed, and Maria did likewise, the festivities moved to other houses.  St. Patrick's got back on the map, but not in ways I ever anticipated.

I love my Irish heritage and I'm a bit of a purist.  My grandma, Margaret Carroll McGill,  was born and raised in County Kerry and she told me I never had to wear green on St. Patrick's day because I had true Irish blood. (Somehow I got it in my head that my blood turned green on St. Patrick's Day and I always wanted to prick my finger to see it bleed - and see if it was green.)  My mother never made corned beef and cabbage because 1) she probably didn't like it and 2) it really isn't an Irish dish.  Irish bacon and colcannon are more proper, and I"m not a big fan of any variation of colcannon I've ever made.   My observance of St. Patrick's Day centers around using my Belleek china or having a pint of Guinness (no proper Irishman would be caught dead drinking green beer).  My husband? The Sicilian prince?  Loves corned beef and cabbage. When I say "loves" corned beef & cabbage, I mean "would marry it". He has a serious problem.  This really happened:

Joe:  I went to the store and picked up some groceries.

Me: Good, we were getting low.  What did you get?

Joe: Well, I bought a nice slab of corned beef!

Me: Really?  (Jokingly) Just one?

Joe:  Well, actually I bought two and thought I would freeze one....

Me:  Seriously?  Two?

Joe: Well (pointing to the refrigerator) .... there might be three in there.

Me: THREE?  There MIGHT be three?  Are you serious?

Joe: Well, we never have leftovers to make corned beef hash and I know you like that.

Oh yes, I'm sure he bought it for me.  He does that a lot. He will come home with a ham and say, "Look what I got you!" (Ham = oxygen to him.) In Sicilian culture, food is love. He shows his love for me by bringing home food he loves. Whatever. He cooks it (I refuse to) and enjoys it with as much relish as he does his feast day pasta.  March is his favorite month.

These days our altar is small but very sincere. We used to have a little silver tray to hold the mass cards of people we had lost, but as years passed we graduated to a lovely crystal bowl. After this round, I think we need to find a bigger bowl.  In twenty-five years we have collected a lot of those little cards. It is with great love and many tears we go through and review  them, but we always try to remember how lucky we were - and still are - to have loved so many wonderful souls. We pray for them, for families and friends, and this year for the new Pope Francis on whom the future of the church hangs in precarious balance. He will need all the help he can get.  I have set aside many of the beliefs taught to me in my youth, but I have hope in him. Besides, who better than the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi to guide us going forward?

The Quest for Unscented Anything

A few weeks ago we celebrated Joe's milestone birthday with an outdoor party.  I really enjoy using my nice linens and vintage pitchers and containers for vases and candles.  I think it makes the party more personal when you celebrate it with things that are special to you. The problem came when I went in search of candles for the centerpieces. I love me some fire on the table and usually have a formidable stash of candles but alas, I had apparently (and literally)  burned through my supply. No probs, I thought, I'll just pick up some more.

NOT.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find unscented candles?  I'm talking about pillar candles here, not a wimpy tea light or formal tapers (I always have those) - I wanted a nice, sturdy candle that would burn for hours. (Hey, my friends are 1) thirsty and 2) big talkers.) We have long, luxurious "dinner in Italy" style meals.  It's the BEST.  Anyway, I burned a lot of time and gasoline in my quest and came up with butkus.  I was more than annoyed - I was ticked off.  Really folks, do you want to smell "woodsy pine" or "cinnamon apple" when you are eating dinner?  No.  Why is everything SCENTED?  Why do people buy home deodorizers that run continuously and make their houses smell like a powder room?  Why not save the money and spend a little time finding the source of what is making your house smell so bad that you need to install a 24/7 deodorizer?  Jimmy Hoffa's body has to be somewhere, right?

Admittedly, my pale Irish skin is oversensitive to scented lotions and products. So is my pale Irish nose. I am on a quest to locate a lifetime supply of Dove unscented deodorant. I loved it and can no longer find it among the 24 varieties they now offer.  Really, Dove?  I used to love your unscented body wash and you had to mess with that, too.  You used to be the industry standard for not-crapping-up-products-with-cloying-fragrance.  If I try a new a shampoo or hairspray and I love the results  it still goes right into the trash if the scent is cloying and overpowering.  I smell it ALL DAY LONG. 

Back to the candles.  I solved my dilemma at the grocery store.  No, they did not carry unscented candles.  They did carry Yahrzeit candles and I could not believe I didn't think of it sooner. ( I spent 4 years as a nanny for a Jewish family where I learned about the tradition of burning that candle on the anniversary of the death of a loved one.  Always loved the idea.) I bought six of them and took them home to put in the arrangements.

The finished product was lovely - I grouped them on the smaller table the next morning and we had a lovely, private brunch. (We were house sitting.) Of course we honored the intent of the Yahrzeit candle.  We lit six candles - three for Joe's mother, father, and his only brother who have gone before us.  We lit two for my parents, also gone before us. We lit the final one for the pregnancy we had that didn't make it all the way to the finish line.  While we wanted all of those souls to be present it was simply not possible. We  took comfort in the fact that we were able to remember them with such deep love and light - and so privately,  just between the two of us.

It was a wonderful evening and the candles burned blissfully unscented long into the night. We shared memories, gave speeches, talked about the people we love and gave thanks for the people in our lives, living or not-so-living.  Joe had me in tears when he talked about the "luckiest day in his life, July 4, 1987."  (The day we met.)  How wonderful is that? I love happy endings.

Sweet Corn Wars

Indulge me. I am locked in my annual sweet corn battle with my husband and I need to vent.

Growing up in the Platte Valley of Nebraska learned a few things about farming, seasons, and when the hell you eat sweet corn.  My husband (a barnacled coastie from Gloucester who has an umbilical cord that won't reach over the bridge and wouldn't know a farm implement if it rolled over his foot) thinks sweet corn is pretty much available 24/7, 365.  Consequently, he started bringing home this "stuff" from the local grocery stores in May, crowing about how this is going to be a "good batch" and asks me EVERY NIGHT IF I WANT SOME CORN ON THE COB.  Every night I say NO I DO NOT WANT YOUR FAKIE, TASTELESS YELLOW JUNK.  Does he stop?  No.  Does he give up?  No.  Will this be the cause of his death someday?  Highly likely.

I have an almost religious fervor for authentic sweet corn. Even the proper way to cook it is a bone of contention at our house. Joe boils (yes, boils) his fake yellow pellets-on-a-cob while the chicken is still on the grill.  I am serious. I am not making that up.  I explained how the water should be simmering and everyone seated at the supper table before you even SHUCK the corn, but my vast experience is lost on him. It is apparently his culture; it seems to be a big problem out here because I see people at the grocery store shucking their sweet corn AT THE STORE and then putting it in their nasty produce bag to cart it up to the register.  This effectively starts the dehydration process before they even pay for the corn, insuring by the time they reach home it is suitable for feed corn (that's for animals, people) and nothing else. Let it sit in the frig for a few days before you cook it and....well, I can't even go there.

One of the last times my parents flew out here was in August, about the time of the Perseid meteor showers.  I remember when I went to Logan Airport to pick them up I saw them come off the plane with luggage and nothing else.  I shrieked, "Dad, you didn't bring sweet corn????"  He stopped, turned to my Mother and said, "You know, we drove past all those farm stands on the way to the airport (180 plus miles) and we didn't think to, did we?"    I wanted to turn around and leave them both at the airport.

I recently found the blog of a classmate who talks about living and working a farming operation in 2011.  It is unlike anything many of you would imagine.  His Platte Valley Farmer blog gave me a huge lump in my throat.  It brought back so many memories, made me terribly homesick, and positively despair over ever tasting proper sweet corn again.  I've pretty much given up on consistent sweet corn it out here - every store in town calls it "local corn" WEEKS before anything planted locally could be ready to eat.

At least now can visit my friend's blog, watch the corn grow and learn more about how positively amazing the science of farming has evolved.  Every August I enjoy looking back on the night of the Persieds with my parents, my mom's peach pie & cobbler,  and  pretend that on that mid-August night we  perfected the evening with some authentic and buttery fresh  sweet corn.

PS - The next time Joe tries to get me to eat his impostor sweet corn I am going to buy a really expensive piece of fish, boil it, cover it with ketchup and serve it to him for supper. Maybe then he'll get my point.

My Peeps!

Literally!   I confess - I succumbed to an impulse purchase at the grocery store. PLUSH PEEPS!  They are adorable.  I might have go back and get the bunnies.  I took these out of the box, cut off the ugly yellow label and just posted them randomly on my mantle in the family room.  They look like the real thing. They also stare out into the room as if to say, "Hmm,  I wonder how we ended up here?"

PS - Am I the only aficionado  of stale peeps?  Take them out of the package, break them up & let them sit in a bowl for a couple of days.  They get a nice crispy crunch when you bite in to them.   MMmmmmm.

A White Ribbon Vanquished

I have been to the mountain and I have been redeemed.

Really.  The mountains of New Hampshire to be concise.  This past weekend was my introduction to paste paper and box making.  Serious stuff, not at all a "krafty with a K" kind of thing.  I was not only lucky enough to have Polly Allen as an instructor, but also as hostess - I drove up with her sister and we stayed in her stunningly beautiful mountain side home. It was a simple matter of walking down the hall from my beautiful guest room to the most thoroughly tricked-up,  decked-out studio I'd ever seen in my life.  The class was challenging, overwhelming, scary and exhilarating - all at the same time.

Day one was spent learning the fundamentals and techniques used in making paste paper.  By the end of the day I had three large sheets of my very own creation.  The class ended at 4PM  but if left to my own devices I would have been neck-deep in paint until about 3AM.  We were presented with a seemingly endless supply of inks, stamps, custom rollers, altered squeegees, combs and other tools to use to swirl the paint around and make all kinds of different designs.  The sponge paintbrush (AKA the "do-over" brush) would immediately smooth out and erase any bad decisions and enable endless second chances.  The release from the  "you are stuck with this"  law enabled me to try things I never would have attempted (without good drugs).  While that layer of paint dried you grabbed an earlier sheet and put the next layer on top of that - and the process continued.

Day two was box making day.  After varnishing our chosen paper, we went on to cut out different sized areas to adhere to a (mercifully) pre-cut series of bookboard templates. The process was lengthy but let me sum it up in a few words:  WE USED A SCALPEL.  Not a fakie one, or a less lethal Exacto knife, but a real thow-it-down, hand- me-the -number- 3- scalpel- yes -Dr. -Kildaire- scalpel.  It was kind of like cutting up a very intricate snowflake and unfolding it to see what you made - but on steroids.  I look at my finished box and I can't believe I made it - any of it.  The paper, the box, the whole enchilada.  Choosing the button combination for the lid was another experience unto itself.  Among her many other talents Polly is a button whisperer.  She came up with a combo that said, "oh SNAP!" and I just nodded in wordless assent.  Here is my finished creation:

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Tres fabu, huh.  Those  little flecks of gold metallic paint really pop!   (Oh - that little beauty in the middle was a celebratory pear martini at the Simon Pearce restaurant in Quechee, Vermont. MMmmmmmmmmm.)

So the grade school 4H project has been permanently vanquished from my hall of shame.  Back then, contact paper was the new Jerusalem - the kewelest thing ever and no surface in the home was safe from being permanently altered by a sheet of  faux wood grain vinyl adhesive crap.  I survived that to experience the most creative thing I've ever done in my life.  IT ROCKED.

Classes are out there.  Start by contacting your area league of craftsmen - if you live in New England, the League of New Hampshire Craftsmen is a great place to start.  This can be applied to anything you are interested in, but it is best if you do something totally outside your comfort zone.  I can't tell you what this has done for me, both  creatively and spiritually. My approach to fabric and quilting has also been changed for the better.  I urge you to try something way out of your usual scope and jump-start your creative spirit and soul.

EDIT:  I'm not sure why Wordpress is sticking my title wordle in the gallery with the pictures of the box.  I'm not going to worry about it.  I've learned to let go and let the universe take you places!

Etiquette for Advent (Educating the Universe Part I)

Just finished making this year's Advent wreath ( a day late but I was at work all weekend ) and it got me to thinking about all the things that stress people out over the holidays.  Most of it is the result of thoughtlessness 0r absent-mindedness, but most frequently - stupidity.  I'm starting an "Educating the Universe" series that I hope will serve a useful purpose and maybe render bitch slapping a less frequent occurrence during this festive holiday season.

Advent is the four weeks prior to Christmas.  It is a religious observance.  Do not walk into a gift shop, ask for an Advent calendar, and say, "Oh, not a religious one!"  An ADVENT calendar is a guide for children to understand the approaching birth of their Lord.  A gigundo poster of Santa Claus with a big bag that has 24 little paper doors on it  is a COUNTDOWN TO CHRISTMAS.  Advent (and for that matter, Christmas) has nothing to do with Santa. Do what you like, but get your terms correct.

The color of Advent candles vary in some churches but the basic set is 3 purple and one rose.  They are lit on the 4  Sundays of Advent and  go in this sequence:  1st Sunday  - purple,  2nd) purple, purple  3rd) purple, purple,  rose 4th) purple, purple, rose, purple.   You may also light them at supper during the week, it's nice.  The rose (or pink) candle is for Gaudete Sunday (Latin for "rejoice")   and is a rose candle because rose is the liturgical color for joy.  The 3rd Sunday marks the "nearness" of the great event so anticipatory jumping up and down encouraged.  (Trivia question - what is the only other Sunday in the liturgical year that rose vestments are worn?)

• Sidebar on candles:  DO NOT BUY CHEAP CANDLES.  Repeat:  DO.  NOT.  BUY.  CHEAP.  CANDLES.  Cheap candles melt rapidly and puddle wax that will destroy linens and surfaces.  There is nothing attractive about a candle with diarrhea.   If you purchase good candles they will burn MUCH  longer, drip less (if at all) and save you money.  Honest.  PS - make sure the candles are S-T-R-A-I-G-H-T up in their holders.  Seriously. You would think people would know that, but there you are.   PSS - do not buy scented candles for the dinner table.  ( I know - a no-brainer, but I've been to dinners where the scent of flowery candles combined with the scent of roast lamb to become cause for projectile vomiting.)  Let's review:  cheap candles (tapers, jars, floaties, you name it) are a fire hazard and a nuisance.

So that is Advent 101.  There is more but that should  get you through the holidays.  Our next  installment in the Educating the Universe series will be about the shocking stupidity and thoughtlessness of walking through stores with hot coffee and/or  soft drinks.

Quilted Thanksgiving Wishes

Found this on the International Quilt Market page on Facebook.  Thought it was a howl - have a great holiday, everyone!

 

Turkey Wars

Strap on your party livers, it's Thanksgiving week - the beginning of the "best in eating" season EVER.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday - it's mellow, it is easy (anyone can roast a turkey) and it combines leftover turkey sandwiches, football, and napping on the couch.  It is the trifecta of relaxation.  I understand there are some universal  issues that come up around this time, so I'll go ahead and clear things up for everyone.

1. The toilet paper should unroll over the TOP for easy access.  You're welcome.


2. Stuffing or dressing?  Not worth an argument, either one will suffice.  It is more important that you pay attention to the ingredients than what you insist on calling the finished product.  Purists will call what is cooked inside the turkey "stuffing" and what is cooked outside the turkey "dressing."   What do I call it?  The main reason for roasting a turkey.

What goes in the stuffing (or dressing)  is of paramount importance, and the source of many arguments, family discord and marital stress. Everyone likes THEIR family recipe, whatever they grew up with.  (I have noted this phenomenon also occurs around how to make potato salad.)  It is understandable, but there are entire generations that insist on putting oysters, raisins, cranberries, apples - you name it and  people use it to ruin the centerpiece of the meal.

My husband's mother was Sicilian and  not clear on the concept of  Thanksgiving.   She called it the Festa della Toyko (phonetically and loosely translated as "the feast of the turkey").  She stuffed the turkey with a mixture of ground beef, rice, and sugo (sauce).   My husband adored it and still tries to recreate it every Thanksgiving.  (It is never placed inside the turkey  or anywhere near my mouth, I can tell you that right now.)  Living in New England, there are an abundant number of locals who make cornbread stuffing (I am not making this up) and think it is "normal."   Whatever. Again, it is what you grew up with that makes the holiday.  (Many people grew up with not brushing their teeth regularly either, but that does not make it right. Just sayin'.)

Here is how I make my stuffing:   I wash out the turkey, removing the packets of giblets, neck, etc.  All of the bits and pieces go into a large pan on the stove where I add water, an onion, celery, and seasonings.   This needs to simmer gently for at least an hour, maybe longer (usually until the movie on TV is over.)  I find the hand written recipe from my mother, take out the large yellow pyrex bowl (that made a thousand batches of this, birthday cakes, etc.) and read through the recipe just for love.  I don't need to see it, it is engraved in my head, but I love looking at her handwriting.  Bonus - it gives me a feeling like she is still here with us, looking over my shoulder.

I melt the butter in a large skillet, remembering my mother's hand-written admonishment, "damnit Jo, don't let it burn!" and saute the finely chopped onion and celery until it is lightly translucent.  Then I start tossing it with the cubed, stale bread, adding sage, poultry seasoning, a little salt, and moistening the whole batch with the broth made from the turkey trimmings.   At this point I remove a portion of the stuffing to a separate bowl - this is the "stuffing" batch - and continue adding a little more broth to the "dressing" portion.  It needs more moisture as it is being cooked outside the bird.  Then I hit a sheet of heavy aluminum foil with non-stick spray and lay out the remaining dressing and shape it like a long, thinnish loaf.  This way you can slide it in to the oven alongside the roasting pan and it "fits" the space without needing to make room for a blocky casserole dish.   When the turkey is finished, I combine the stuffing with the dressing and THEN put it in a covered casserole dish and put it back in the oven while the turkey is resting.

I am experimenting with adding a beaten egg to the mixture, it is supposed to "puff it up" but I'm not getting that sense just yet.   I really do love this centerpiece dish,  it makes the meal and also makes a leftover turkey sandwich even better (yes, I do eat it cold.)  However you make it and whatever you call it, enjoy.  Even with all that is going on in our homes, our cities, our country and the world, we still have more than most.  Give thanks for that abundance.  (And for pete's sake, don't screw up the stuffing/dressing.)

Think I'll Tie One On.....

Well, not in the usual (for me) sense, but there is nothing like the awareness of the great needs of others to put  your  family Thanksgiving in perspective.  It's also a good way to take a break from your troubles and remind yourself that others everywhere are with you, either  neck-deep in their own troubles or offering you a hand to help you out of yours.  No wonder Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

Continuing my "be useful" theme -  check this out and Tie One On!

Melancholy Meteors

The annual Perseid meteor shower is underway but I won't be watching this year.  I'm away from home (and too surrounded by city lights) to get a glimpse of the magic. It's probably a good thing as my dark Irish side kicks up and I go into a full "have a pint, dear" funk.

I didn't know it at the time, but the last time my parents came to Gloucester for a visit was during the Perseid meteor shower of about 1998.  We had friends who were members of a local beach club so we were able to troop down to the beach with a hibachi, wine, dessert and sand chairs to make a perfect evening in a perfect setting even more....perfect.  We had a marvelous supper, topped off by peach pie made by my mother from peaches picked in our own backyard.  Dad was the official peach peeler (he's a hound dog for peach pie) and Mom could whip up a pie so effortlessly it was all done in a blink.  I can still remember the setting in vivid detail, but I can't conjure up the taste of Mom's peach pie.  It's been too long and while my own peach pies are pretty good (from good DNA) they aren't hers.  They aren't from peaches in our own backyard, they weren't peeled with love by my Dad, and ..... well, you get the idea. We watched the sun set and the stars come out, the moon rose perfectly between the twin lighthouses of Thatcher Island, and the meteors began.  It was an experience we all talked about for years to come - but especially during the annual event.

I woke up this morning and listened to the news about the meteor shower.  I got a little weepy - I'm up here for the Lowell Quilt Festival and I thought about how perfect it would be for my quilt-making mother to come out for the show, see me working at a museum of quilts, and then go home and enjoy the meteor shower.  Some things aren't meant to be - but at least I know Mom has a fabulous view of the Perseids, and that helps.

The Party's Over....

Not only is the party almost over, the outdoor temperatures are about to soar....again.   Our house-sitting adventure staycation is coming down to the final one or two nights before the homeowner returns.  (He is currently making a transatlantic crossing on the Queen Mary 2 and swears he will never leave the ship, but I have a feeling when he  hits New York he'll be ready to come home.) I spoke to him this morning.  He was sitting on the balcony of his stateroom watching the ocean pass by.  Now I don't like to brag  but I would be SO GOOD at that.  I would be equally  accomplished in a deck chair.  I could positively preside over an en suite stateroom.  I have these refined skills and talents - yet no way to exercise them.  I could flag down a nattily dressed steward and gracefully request a something or other  and do it with such panache.   Seriously.

The ship above is the RMS Cunard Campania. It happens to be the ship Margaret Carroll sailed on  from Ireland  to New York  and then spent her 18th birthday on Ellis Island.  I'm glad she did, she later married Martin McGill and they became my maternal grandparents. I'm sure when Grandma sailed on the Campania she was probably in steerage.  That seems to have set the tone for my life - I'm a first class girl always sailing (and flying) in steerage.  What's up with that? It is enough to convince me in the possibility of having past lives - and in one of mine I must have been some  kind of grande dame with engraved (not thermographed) stationery and all the accoutrements necessary for exercising the civilized life.  What else explains my penchant for bread and butter notes, cloth napkins and having the instinctive knowledge of how to properly eat soup?

My mother used to say I had champagne taste on a beer budget.  True dat.  I don't  need to fashion myself as wealthy or  throw myself around on boudoir furniture and feign a swoon at odors, but jeez  I do like nice things.  Not expensive or pretentious things, just nice. Everything is so disposable now, nothing is made to endure.  From appliances to dishes to events  (an e-vite?  Are you kidding me?)  it has all gone down with the ship.   Now we must pack up our bags and return to home sweet home.    Oh well, we can always dream, right?  I think of all the things I'll miss about the staycation house,  the central air conditioning (and the world's greatest couch for napping) will be what haunts my dreams most in the ungodly hot  days to come.

Birthday Afterglow

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Well, my birthday  pergolapalooza is in the books. Had thee loveliest dinner under the stars & grape arbor / pergola of the homeowner where we are house sitting.  It was a perfect evening, made better by loved ones who came, brought presents  (woo hoo!) champagne & great food, sang to me and loved me long time. I felt like I landed on a movie set - it was so perfect! Lanterns glowing and swinging in the breeze, candles on the table and flowers from my garden.  Joe was a champ - grilled everything to perfection and organized the task of stringing the lanterns, etc. He has mad skills!    Later on, we went inside for cake and ice cream and stories and laughs. It was a happy house, a happy group, and we decided we need to make up some birthdays so we could do it again.  (Note to self:  I don't  think the homeowner would be as enthused.....especially if we showed up when he was back at home, huh.)

I feel like my life has has been a steep, uphill climb for a long time now.  The economy has been lousy for so long and has hurt many small businesses like Joe's store.  I can't get enough hours at work to make ends meet - our budget has been cut over and over.  Along with a few health issues on the horizon..... I really needed something like this to happen.  I feel renewed, charged up and ready to go back out there and face the universe.  It's so nice to have  this birthday to put in my memory book and cherish forever - do it for someone you love, if you can.  It doesn't have to be fancy, just organize a great pot luck and show up with love in your heart.

They'll never forget it, I promise.

May Day on Mars

I have lived out east for about 25 years and I still can't get over the sensation of living on another planet.  Case in point - May Day.  In our younger days, we'd get little crepe paper nut cups with sweet little handles and fill them with mints and nuts and little treats.  We'd run over to a friend's house, careful not to spill (okay, eat) the goodies on the way there.  Hang the basket on their front door knob, ring the doorbell and run away. Squeals of delight when they found their basket.  It was so innocent, so sweet.  Then comes the skip in your breathing when you got home and saw one hanging on YOUR FRONT DOOR. I remember getting them and just being so happy.   It was special, it was 4 mints and 6 peanuts of friendship and caring.   What's not to love?

I'm sure by today's standards, kids would get an MP3 player or a Nintendo game in their May basket. ( Kids are really wrecked at a young age, in my opinion.  Nothing is special anymore.)  But here on Mars,  no one has even heard of May baskets, much less did it in their youth.  How messed up is THAT? Who gave birth to these people?  I have these lovely grandmas who come in to Joe's store and complain about buying a card for their grandkids when, "All they care about is the money inside."  I always want to lean over the counter and say, "Well, who started putting money in those cards, huh?  Did you ever think of  getting them a good book, taking them out for an ice cream, or teaching them how to make a cake, or just the two of you cooking up something special for lunch?  An actual chance for a conversation?  A little bonding?  How about a movie? A trip to the science museum, or a zoo? If your answer is, "My kids would hate that," you have failed as a parent and a human being and I hope I never have to run in to you - or your kids.

Joe and I are the boring great-aunt and uncle, we buy savings bonds and tuck them inside age appropriate books.  The kids aren't too thrilled, but the parents love us long time.  I guess I don't feel the need to be an ATM to people I love, especially when they already have every doll/toy/dress/gadget on the planet. I'm up for the things they will look back on and say, "Gosh, that was so nice when.... I really miss being able to .....".

It's okay, I'm patient.  I can wait. But if my books and that damn sewing machine screw do not show up soon, I'm going to go nuts - and not in the good May basket way.

Easter Sushi

Continuing my love affair with all things Japanese is....... (drumroll:)  SUSHI.
Love it.  Love sushi, love sashimi,  el-oh-vee-eee LOVE IT.  I also love PEEPS, those cute little marshmallow chicks that get better with age (and dryness) YUM.  I even  have a technique for eating Peeps "properly" which I will share with anyone who wishes to be enlightened.   (Warning - the first bite is not for the faint of heart.)

It was with shock, delight, surprise and laughter that I found the website Serious Eats offered up the funniest, most creative (and frankly, delicious)  PEEPS SUSHI that I have ever seen, heard of, or dreamed up.  This is for real, and it is so colorful & creative - it made me laugh out loud.  Enjoy - I think I'll do a little series on the art of PEEPS!

When Life Gives You Lemons...

.....you make lemonade, right?  And when a well-intentioned sewing project goes south with a bullet....make it in to a potholder.  This was going to be a little cosmetic case, but the binding was a disaster, and what looked easy as a concept turned out a little more complicated.

So, I  doubled up the length of it and threw a binding on all  4 sides.  It isn't a cost-effective potholder, but I hate to waste it and the whole project was just not salvageable. It is an elegant thing, but it won't look like this for long.  Until then,  I can pretend that all my potholders are quasi-designer and that I never make a mess in the kitchen.

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